


Confidentiality

by SmutWithPlot



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alcoholism, Cheating, Consensual Violence, Domestic Violence, F/M, Jesse is bi, Jesse is loyal to a fault, M/M, if you don't like the content in the tags why are you reading it?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 04:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11005995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmutWithPlot/pseuds/SmutWithPlot
Summary: The years in which Jesse McCree stumbling home drunk in the middle of the night to Angela Ziegler's home have long passed... And yet, here he is again.





	Confidentiality

**Author's Note:**

> I started a Facebook RP account for Jesse (Fb.com/WellBoyHowdy iffen ya like) and I started writing with a Mercy, and I realized I REALLY liked writing the ship. And damn, the smut was /hot/. So I've adopted this as a headcanon, but I realized that Mercy/McCree would have to have been a First Watch ship, which was ruined when Jesse went AWOL when things came to a head with Morrison and Reyes, and in true cowboy fashion, he left without saying goodbye and broke the poor Doc's heart. Fast forward, and I think Reinhardt/Mercy is totes adorbz, so that's a thing now. Because REINHARDT doesn't run off like a cotton-headed ninny-muggins. There was a little bad blood when he came back to Overwatch, but she's a Doc, she just takes her pain out on you in shots and shit, so he got the pain and punishment he so muchly needs, and they never sat down to talk about it.
> 
> Fast forward a little more to an established #McHanzo and the expected complications of their relationship, and after a particularly bad fight he goes to the Doc for a patch up... And some of their baggage comes to the table. Because when people cheat, it's usually because they're somehow dissatisfied with their own relationship. And McCree is a nice enough/too loyal guy to oblige her. But god will Hanzo not be happy about it.
> 
> ALSO, his arm is attached bodily, painful to lose. He has an anesthetic as part of the mechanism should he accidentally smash it out of place (See "Rodeo") but... Well, apparently this isn't the first time. Very ouch.

She woke to a loud _thump,_  and bolted up in bed. Then there was the clatter of something that sounded like something being knocked off a shelf, and a low curse. _Reinhardt is in Paris right now. What the hell?_  she thought to herself. Her heart was racing a mile a minute, and she got out of bed, rifling in her closet for... a baseball bat, that would do, and she held it high. There was more noise, and a voice... a low voice, and thumping. _Someone is in my house,_  she thought, terrified, and maybe it would have been smarter to call the cops, but there was anger, too. _Someone broke into my house!_

She slipped through her apartment and flipped on the hallway light when the shape of something moved into her vision.

"Whoever you are!" she shouted, bat at the ready. "You do belong here!"

"Christ, Angie," rasped a voice. An arm went up to hide from the light. "Shut that off, will you?"

Her heart dropped when she recognised that voice. She snapped it off and came forward, swing still in hand, but lowered. "McCree?"

She watched the lump drop to the ground, and now that she had adjusted to the light, _yes_. It was Jesse McCree.

And he looked like _shit_.

"Jesse, what happened to you?" she asked, setting the bat down, her compassion overriding her sense. Her fingers touched his face, brushing his hair aside to a purple blotch on one eye, and a split lip. He also _reeked_  of liquor.

He still managed a weak smile, eyes sparkling. "Would you believe me if I said it looks worse than it feels?"

"Who did this to you?" she whispered.

He swallowed. "Don't matter. I deserved it."

Her jaw clenched. "Jesse McCree, you tell me."

He looked away. "Seriously, Doc. I deserved it. Believe me, I did." His eyes flashed around the place. "You redecorated."

She scoffed, rising to her feet. "Yeah. That happens when you haven't been somewhere for years. Things change."

He nodded and looked up at her, swollen eye squeezed shut. "Yeah, that's fair."

It broke her heart to see him like this. It always did. "I'll get you some ice."

His chuckle followed her into the kitchen, and it sent shivers down her spine. "Yeah... I figured you'd be hospitable."

She glanced at the clock. "It's 2 in the morning."

"Is it?" She got herself a ziplock bag and scooped up some ice. She could see him lumber about, leaning heavily on one arm, clutching his left to his chest jealously, and dropped himself into a couch, disappearing from vision.

"I mean it," she said again, coming to him. "I want to know who did this to you."

He rolled his eyes. "Doc, I came here specifically because I didn't want it in no book nowhere. I'm not pressing charges."

"Someone you know, then?" she insisted. "Was it Hanzo? Genji?"

He looked away from her... Not answering. But the heartbreak on his face said enough.

"...God, it was Hanzo, wasn't it?" she whispered. She pressed the bag to his face.

"He's awful mad at me," he muttered, voice thick, tears in his eyes. "We're in a bad place."

"I'm sorry, Jesse, I didn't know..."

He looked to her moving his hand over hers. "Don't worry about it. Might not even be a thing anymore."

She noted he did it with his right hand, reaching around himself. She gingerly reached for his left, and he grit his teeth as she did.

It had been _ripped_  at. Blood on his shirt, and something else had been used to cover the clotting and stop the bleeding.

"Why didn't you just reattach it?" she asked, knowing damn well it was hooked up with pain killers for reapplication.

"I did," he answered, avoiding her eye. "When he did it a couple days ago. I hadn't had the chance to get new drugs put in. I can't bear to move it right now."

Her stomach rolled, and she clutched a hand to her mouth. "Jesse, I'm so sorry..."

"Don't be. I've earned it, I promise you," he said, looking to her with eyes that were cold, hurt, but determined. "Don't blame him for anything. I promise you, he's probably seeing a medic himself right now."

She felt like she was going to be sick. "W-..." She didn't know where to start. She took a breath. "What else is there?" She could feel tears in her own eyes.

"Hell of a lot of heartache," he whispered, voice thick and croaking. "Bruises, I'm sure. We were pummeling the shit out of each other for a while there."

"Jesse..."

"Well, it's what you get when two gangbangers and assassins are dating, alright?" he said, voice raising. "I drink! He drinks! Sometimes it don't make us agreeable!" He caught himself yelling, and turned away. "Damn it, Angie, you know how I get. I figured you'd understand how much I have earned this."

"I never ripped your arm out," she whispered.

He scoffed. "That's cos you're a good person." He rubbed tears out of his eyes with his arm before putting his ice pack back. "I done fucked up, Angie. I really did..."

He sat up, and she sat by his side helpless. "...What can I do?"

"Hell if I know," he answered, giving a sniff. He swallowed hard. "He's so mad at me, I... I tried to go somewhere he wouldn't think of me comin'."

She looked around at the room. "You do never come here."

"I wouldn't dare," he said. "Not the way you and Reinhardt are, happy as peas in a pod. I wouldn't lumber in here with..." He swallowed. "With my mess. I've told him as much. And that... You know. Me and you are history and stuff." He looked at her sideways, and then away, his voice a hoarse whisper. "He gets mighty jealous of you sometimes..."

"Of me?"

"Yeah..." Sad smile. "Problem with swingin' both ways. Yer mate sees everyone as a threat." His eyes stared off...

"Was that the fighting? Jealousy?" She reached for his shoulder, trying to also get a good look at his arm... It was a mess. He would need to get it properly cleaned or it would get infected.

He shook his head. "It's lots of things, piling on top of each other. Jealousy. The job. My drinking. That quiet bug in the back of our heads that we are old men without children..." He looked at her sideways. "We both have bounties on our heads. We'll never be able to settle down and retire somewhere. It's ridin' on us."

She considered that... How many sad looks he'd given her anytime he mentioned kids or settling down. He was the kind of man people didn't forget. It would only be a matter of time before trouble followed. Reinhardt didn't give her those sad looks, but smiled and laughed, saying that if it was meant to be, he'd be happy...

She couldn't imagine. She'd always had the option of finding someone else, and she had, when Jesse had vanished after Overwatch ended, probably in some self-imposed ideal of 'Angie would be better off without me'. She's hated him a long time for it. She couldn't imagine what it would be like if he pulled that trick on Hanzo, how often he probably did, and they fought tooth and nail for each other...

...And what would happen if that fighting came between them.

 _You could always adopt,_ she wanted to say, but she knew what his answer would be. Who would give him a kid? Where would they raise it? What kind of life would he have with two assassins for parents? Having a same-sex marriage was hard enough in some places without that kind of history.

"I'm sorry to hear it," she said, gently.

"And I can trust you not to tell anybody else, neither," he said, not looking at her. "Doctor-patient confidentiality."

She grimaced. "That doesn't keep me from telling the cops if there's domestic abuse happening," she said.

"It's not abuse," he answered. "We're both fighters. It might be different for other people, but this is... How we handle things some times. Not often, mind." A hint of a smirk. "Just when I really fuck up."

"You seem determined to blame yourself," she noted.

He looked to her with a sad smile. "I threw the first punch."

She looked away. "You never did that to me."

"No, I didn't." He moved the ice bag to his arm. "That wasn't the kind of thing I did with you. You would yell at me for drinkin' too much and smokin' too much and nag from afar." But his eyes -- eye -- was sparkling in fondness.

"Nag, hmm?"

He shrugged. "You're really cute when you're mad."

She wrinkled her nose. "I've a temptation to pinch you."

He laughed. "Yeah, when Hanzo gets that feeling, he actually slaps me." He moved his arm and set the ice underneath, and he sighed. His eyes looked over at the bookshelf. "I'm happy to see you and Reinhardt are doing well."

She looked to the shelf, too, covered in pictures... "Yeah. We do alright." Part of her ached every time he left...

Jesse licked his lips, looking down at his arm. "You two, ah..." He wasn't sure how to say it. "You thinkin' about settlin' down?"

"Can't right now," she answered. "Overwatch needs us."

"Don't be like that, darlin'. You really want it, you make time for that shit."

She looked over at him, and their eyes met.

...He always had such beautiful, heartfelt eyes.

She looked away, and stood. "I'm going to find a topical for your arm. I'll be right back."

She didn't want to admit he was right. She didn't want to admit it to him, or to herself. The fact that some of her was happy, and part of her missed the wild abandon and recklessness of her cowboy-- of the man who used to be _her_  cowboy. How, although he was sweet and nice and loved her dearly... Sometimes Reinhardt felt too...

...Safe.

When she came back, he had the ice on his eye again. He looked like he could fall asleep right then and there.

"Jesse, when was the last time you slept?"

He blinked his eyes and looked up at her. "Hmm? Uh..." He worked his jaw. "...I caught a nap yesterday. Had an early watch, so I just stayed up." He grit his teeth as she gingerly picked at the bloody shirt, pulling it higher. The gore wasn't something she wasn't used to seeing, but that didn't make it less painful to look at. He didn't quite flinch as she pricked him with the needle and put in the anaesthetic. She watched him, and when his eyes rolled back in his head with a low groan, she smiled sadly.

"Gee, thanks, Doc," he whispered.

She bit her lip. "Going for reinsertion."

"I'm bracin'." He did. He set the ice aside and clutched at his knee... She grabbed his arm and puuuushed in, and it went in with a disgusting sucking noise.

"AAAAHHHHHhhhhh ha ha ha..." he cried, descending into a frantic laugh, hand turning to a fist as he slammed it on his knee, a painful grimace on his face. "Aaaahhhh..." He shut his eyes, hissing in a breath and letting it back out.

She felt like she was going to be sick. She tore her eyes from his face and moved her attention to his arm. She tilted it up, and she watched the tendons in his jaw tighten and his face flex from the pain. But the fingers started to twitch, jittery at first, but then in jerky motions, until it got smoother, and finally he could properly flex it open and closed.

He let out a long breath, and when she looked to his face, he looked exhausted.

"Thanks, Angie," he said quietly. "I needed that."

His hand moved in hers to entangle in her fingers. He even leaned down to kiss her knuckles, even if his smile was tight with pain.

She let out a sound of astonishment. "All the pain you're in, and you're still a gentleman."

"I know," he said. "Insufferable, isn't it?"

And he looked to her, and she could see the words in his eyes... Just waiting to see if he would actually say them was one of the hardest parts of this man.

She swallowed hard, her hand going over theirs. "Jesse, why didn't you ever come back?" She looked up at him, and the tears finally fell.

He shook his head. "Finally having this conversation, then."

"I thought you were dead for a long time," she said. "You have no idea... How much it pained me when Winston told me that you were alive and well... On the other side of the world from me."

He sighed, leaning his head back... He still made a fetching silhouette in the evening light. "...I went home, Angela." His head tilted to her, the pain in his eyes of a different kind. "Same as you."

"But first I stayed and tried to _help,_ " she said. "I tried to reach you, and you went off the compound." He ran his hand through his hair. "On the reports, you were MIA for a long time. When they went through the Blackwatch records, they had you listed as AWOL. At the time, we didn't know if that meant you'd abandoned a mission, or..."

"I left, okay?" He sighed. "Look, I could see what was happening, with Reyes and Morrison. I saw it. And Jack was getting paranoid, and he didn't trust anything Reyes said, and Reyes was doing everything in his power to justify the paranoia. We were running black ops and wetwork and... Anything. Anything at all, you name it, I promise you, Reyes was doing it." He looked to me. "Jesus, Angie, we were _assassinating_  people. The reason Japan had the backlash they did was because Reyes sent me after Shimadas, and I didn't want to do it. Shit was getting out of hand, and I let someone live who caused the stink they did. Reyes wanted me to put him down before that happened, and I let it happen. And when he confronted me about it, he made me an ultimatum." He shook his head. "I was afraid if I didn't give him an answer I liked, he was going to kill me. So I fucking left."

"You left _me_."

"Of course I did." I looked to her. "Like Reyes didn't know about you? Know how I felt about you? Like he wouldn't have used you against me?" He looked away. "I figured you'd be better off without me. And you are. Loads better."

Her thumb stroked his metal hand. "Not really."

"Beg pardon?"

She hadn't realized she'd said that out loud. And she hesitated for a moment to think of something. She looked up at him, his brow furrowed. "I..."

"Angie, is he not treating you right?"

She laughed, a nervous thing, and she bit her lip. _That's Jesse for you. Always protective._  "No, he's... He's everything a girl could ever want..." She looked up at the pictures that looked like they'd been plucked out of magazines.

"Angie?" He touched her chin, and turned her to face him. She let him. "Angela, what is it?"

Her face crumpled. "I thought you were dead."

His eyes searched hers, and before she could stop herself, she moved forward and kissed him. A desperate, tight-lipped, not-sure-if-he'll-respond-but-I-have-to-try kind of kiss. He protested in pain, but his arms went around her while hers went around his neck. Desperate turned to he's-not-stopping-me, turned into I'm-sorrys and god-I-missed-yous.

When she finally broke off, they were both gasping for breath, and she pressed her forehead to his, crying.

"Angela..." His thumb brushed at her chin, and his voice quaked, thick with his own tears. "Jesus, I'm so sorry, darlin'..."

"When Winston told me you were alive, I..." She shook her head. "Oh, god, Jesse." Her fingers clutched at the collar of his shirt. "I wasn't sure if I should be happy or sad or mad or..."

His smile quivered. "Maybe all of the above?"

"I just..." She swallowed. "I had to leave the room, it was too much. But when I came back, and I looked at his file for you..." She looked up into his eyes, those chocolate brown eyes she had loved and mourned and lost... "My first thought was... God, all the scars he must have on him that I wasn't there to patch up."

"Baby..." His hand squeezed at her neck.

"All the pain you were dealing with every day, because I know you don't take good care of yourself..." She let out a desperate laugh.

He chuckled, too. "That's true enough."

"And then..." She slipped her fingers through his hair. "And then, how much I wanted to see you again..."

He moved his head, nuzzling her, and she smiled.

"...And then I told myself that you didn't want to see me, or you would have."

His nuzzling stopped and he sighed. "Angie... I figured you'd move on without me." His eyes were so sad... "I wanted you to think I was gone. Assume I'd been lost in the chaos. So you would find someone else. Someone like Reinhardt. And be happy..." But his eyes were on her neck, his hand brushing hair from her neck, the left gently sliding up her back.

"And... I was."

"That's what I wanted for you." His eyes flit to her. "You deserve better than an outlaw like me."

She worked her jaw. "I wonder if maybe I slapped you instead of pinching you, if I could get you to stop talking like that."

And he laughed, a warm and rumbling thing that came from his belly and filled her soul with warmth. Her face crumpled and tears began anew. She buried her head in his shoulder, and he sighed, holding her close.

"What did I do that time?" he mumbled.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulder, fingers clutching the back of his shirt. "I missed feeling you laugh underneath me. I just didn't know it 'til now."

"Doc..." His arm tightened around her, but gingerly, his hand stroking at her hair. He breathed, slow, and she could feel his chest underneath her, hear it through his skin. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of Jesse McCree, a cocktail she had forgotten. Having him now, it was like it was happening anew all over again.

They stayed that way a long time. So long, she was afraid she had fallen asleep, because she startled when he spoke again.

"Ain't he gonna come stompin' down some point to see what all the fuss was about?"

She huffed. "He ain't here." And she caught herself. _Isn't here_. She smiled. Jesse McCree did that to you.

"Well, where is he?"

"Paris," she answered. She nuzzled his shoulder, into the crook of his neck... He smelled so good.

She could feel him shiver. "How long?"

"He's been gone a few days," she answered, and where the hell did that purr come from? Something in her wanted to do something reckless... And wild. She wanted to bite his ear. "He won't be back for a few more."

"He, uh... He's on assignment?"

"Yeah..." It was so tempting... right there... And it felt so right... Her lips teased at him, and she heard him huff.

"Angie, you got some body," he pleaded, a quiet whine.

"So do you," she answered, and damn it, she was going to do it. Her teeth scraped against the earlobe, and she felt him tighten underneath her, and she tugged.

He let out a keening whine. "Angie, baby, please. I don't want no trouble."

"Please... Give me this." She leaned back, her eyes black, and his eyes were getting there, too. "The goodbye you should've given me those years ago."

He opened his lips, shaking his head, almost so slight you couldn't see it. "...I can't, I..."

Maybe it was the sleep, waking up at 2a and she was sleep deprived and delirious. Maybe it was just because he was so intoxicating, and smelled so good... But she kissed him again and his protests quieted. His lips answered hers, and instead of pushing her away, his fingers were in her hair again. Their kiss deepened, and she moved to straddle him, and he groaned. She started to undo his shirt, and he looked just as drunk as she was.

"Angela, I..."

"I have to inspect you," she answered, opening him up. "Check the damage." And then her hands were over his chest, ghosting over bruises, and there was plenty of spaces that were red and ruddy cowboy, hairy and wonderful, and as her hands moved over him, she saw his defenses falling. Another kiss, and he answered hungry.

When she went to pull back, he caught her by the back of her neck and he snarled.

"Yer trouble, girl," he growled.

"You've said." She gave him another kiss and playfully shoved him back. She pulled off her camisole and she watched his face change, admiring the view, and she slid off her panties as well.

"Hot _damn,_ you're pretty," he whispered.

She smirked. "You've said." And then she got on her knees and he groaned.

"Angie, you don't gotta do that..."

"Oh, but I want to," she said, and boy howdy, did she. It was all coming back to her, all his secret places, all his little catchphrases, all the things she could do to make him melt under her touch. She slid her tongue up the length of him and he moaned, head lolling back. She moved her lips around him and swallowed him, and damn, she had forgotten he was so big.

"Darlin', you're gonna ruin me," he whimpered. And then she began to bob her head over him, using an angle she knew drove him crazy. "...Oh, hell."

 _I got you, cowboy,_  she thought to herself.

He didn't protest past a groan or mild curse here and there. But when she moved to straddle him again, he insisted they find a horizontal space. She led him, limping lightly to her bedroom. He dropped onto it with a moan, and asked for a glass of water as he toed off his boots and disrobed properly. He downed it in one go and set the glass on the bedside table. He checked for pictures, and then joined her. There was no wild lust in his eyes, though, but a tenderness.

"If I was gonna say goodbye to you..." he whispered in her ear. "It wouldn't be a half-dressed hump on the couch. Know you deserve better than that."

Instead, he took his time, hands and lips touching her everywhere. Even with a big black eye and beatings on his sides, favouring his left arm. When he did join with her, it was slow and loving, and she cried, hands on each side of his face.

" _I love you,_ " he whispered, kissing her as they were pressed as close as two people could be, and there were tears in her eyes. "Don't doubt that I do. Whatever happens. I've always loved you."

She cried, too, and even when he'd finished, he took the time to keep on pleasuring her, until she was exhausted and a puddle of person. And then he crawled behind her to tug her close. She wept again, and he held her close, full of sweet-sounding apologies and whiskery kisses on the back of her neck, and she clung to him like she was never going to see him again. She finally drifted off to sleep, and it would have been fitful, had his warmth not kept the nightmares away.

...In the morning, he cooked her breakfast while she set his clothes in the wash, though neither of them had much hope for the shirt. They ate in quiet, and she gave him some pain ointment. When his clothes were ready, he dressed, and he kissed her goodbye.

"Hey, Jesse?"

He stopped, turning back to her. His eyes were sad, and pained. She clutched her chair. Blue eyes wide and begging.

"Yeah, darlin'?" His voice was gentle.

"I... Thank you."

"Well, I sure as hell didn't do all that for me," he answered, putting his hat back on. "Did it help?"

She considered it. "I don't know."

"Listen." He turned to her, boots loud and noisy on the tile of the kitchen. "How long you two been together?"

She pondered. "Little over four years."

"Four years." He nodded. "If you want to get married, tell him. Get him movin'. But if the one holding you two is you... Then you need to work on that." He took that last step and pressed a kiss to her head.

It really did feel like a goodbye.

"I love you, Jesse McCree," she whispered, like it was a secret that she was dying to carry.

"I know, baby," he answered softly. "And I love you too. But we got other people right now." He tapped a finger on her nose and she smiled. "You need to talk to him. Just like I'm gonna go talk to my man, and we're gonna sort shit out."

Her eyes went wide. "I thought you said...?"

"I said maybe." He shrugged. "He's a stubborn old coot, but I love him. So much, I let him beat me up now and again, because it's fair play. I throw punches, too. It's weird, but it's us. It works for us. You don't need to live like that. You deserve someone who can hold you tight at night and give you babies. And I'm not that guy."

"You could be..."

He smiled, and he gave her another soft, chaste kiss. "I'm not that guy, Angela. Breaks a lot of hearts, but it's a fact of life."

And then he stepped away, tipping his hat. "I thank ya, ma'am. You patch me up good, Doc. Like always."

"Like always," she echoed. And yet, she couldn't keep herself following him to the door as he stepped down. "Jesse?"

He stopped again, turning back to her. "Yeah, darlin'?"

She bit her lip. "You won't tell him, will you?" She wasn't sure who she meant.

And he just smiled and winked, tucking his hat down. "Doctor-patient confidentiality, Doc. Short of a court order, I ain't tellin' nobody nothin'."

And she laughed. She watched him make off (limping a little still) and she sighed, holding herself. She shut the door, and looked to the bookshelf...

...So many picture-perfect memories, so much so they didn't feel real. She picked up one, of them at a nice charity dinner, and as she looked... She realised that the reason her picture-perfect memories felt so bland... Was because they were. When she'd been with Jesse McCree, he'd taken her to the circus, to the rodeo, holidays to Mexico, even a time or five in Vegas... Even Graceland. She frowned, realising that she didn't really go anywhere with Reinhardt, and yet she remembered him suggesting something a couple months ago she had declined out of hand, because they were 'too busy' and 'Overwatch needs us'.

_"Don't be like that, darlin'. You really want it, you make time for that shit."_

...Jesse had always bullied her into having fun even when she didn't want to -- or didn't think she had the time -- and those pushy, inconvenient, wasteful ideas of hers had always led to wonderful memories.

_"You know how Jesse is," Genji had teased once. "He pushes you out of your comfort zone. My brother's entire existence is a giant comfort zone. It took me a while to wrap my head around it, but I get it. I really do. And Hanzo gives him accountability and stability..."_

There had been an unspoken _like you did_  in there, and now she got it... She really got it.

If she wanted to be happy, she couldn't expect Jesse or Reinhardt to be able to feed all of her desires without knowing all of the things she wanted. Some of it she had to do for herself. And Jesse was right: she had to get out of her own way.

She put the picture back on the shelf and headed to her computer to see if there wasn't something going on the weekend Reinhardt would be back, and maybe she would surprise him with something fun. She didn't need a cowboy to take her for a wild ride. She could always arrange it for herself.

**Author's Note:**

> BEFORE YOU WRITE ME ANOTHER NASTY COMMENT READ THIS.
> 
> They're gangsters. And assassins. They're violent at times. I'm not here to glamourise anything - on the contrary, I paint ugly truths. You don't like that, DON'T READ IT. Don't sit there and read it anyway and then sit in my comments and hurl rocks at me. Jesus. I didn't tag it as 'sweet' or 'hurt/comfort' fic, because that wasn't my intention. Remember that both Jesse and Hanzo grew up in gotta-be-tough cultures, and both of them got smacked around a lot, so a bit of 'domestic violence' should be expected, even (and especially) if you don't like it. In their line of work, it's cosmetic in comparison. I'm also that guy that writes lots of #Jarley, so if you want frilly, pretty, pointless fluff, you came to the wrong username. My work is angst and passion and pain, literally and otherwise. I write about physical violence and suicide and alcoholism and PTSD and the scary parts of dating someone who is a trained killer that a lot of folks don't like to talk about. You don't like it, lots of other places you can go, I won't stop you. But don't yell at me about writing domestic violence and realistically portraying a character who brushes it under the rug, BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT PEOPLE DO. I'm not advocating it, I'm just writing it realistically.
> 
> This was more about Jesse being guilty and Angie being selfish than it was about anything else. Y'all missed the point while you were screeching about my tactics. And I glossed over a lot of the smut on purpose, which, if you know me, is not common. Because the sex wasn't the main focus here.


End file.
